


Andante, Andante

by VerdantMoth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Body Worship, F/M, Gwen and Arthur centric, Infidelity, M/M, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, established relationships - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:06:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerdantMoth/pseuds/VerdantMoth
Summary: He hovers above her and she stares at him with lust blown eyes. He lets her touch, lets her scrape her nails down his back, over his chest, through the curls on his belly. Lets her slide down their sheets, lets her take him into her mouth. Her mouth is a warm, wet heat that almost tips him over the edge, almost makes him lose control, but he grips the sheets and sucks in a breath.





	Andante, Andante

 

Arthur loves her, every silken inch, every dark blush. So he takes his time, this time. He kisses his way down one side and up the other, works his tongue over her nipples, into the crease of her elbows.

He doesn’t touch her, not yet. Because he loves her, but he knows this is his last chance with her. He ghost his breath over the dark column of her throat, over bite-swollen lips, over damp curls.

He hovers above her and she stares at him with lust blown eyes. He lets her touch, lets her scrape her nails down his back, over his chest, through the curls on his belly. Lets her slide down their sheets, lets her take him into her mouth. Her mouth is a warm, wet heat that almost tips him over the edge, almost makes him lose control, but he grips the sheets and sucks in a breath.

She must taste the hesitancy in him, because she lets him slip from her mouth and squirms her way back up to the pillows. Small, soft,  _ delicate,  _ hands grab his face. He doesn’t want to look into warm eyes though; he attacks her mouth, sucks her tongue into his own mouth. She taste, unlike the other, fresh and cool. Like citrus fruit and winter plants

He loses himself in that taste, in the sharp edges of her teeth, in the feel of her hair twisted around his knuckles. He doesn’t grip, doesn’t pull- he saves that for the other.  

She pushes at his head, pushes until he is licking his way down her smooth belly, soft beneath his lips, pausing to nip at her hips. She doesn’t like him teasing, huffs out a plea, and he smiles against her curls before he licks.

She said once that his tongue was sharp, sharper than his words, than his sword. He wonders if that is why she arches beneath him, why her hands twist against his scalp. He licks, into her, against her, lets his teeth graze the little nub, and she writhes against his sheets.

She cries out, but it’s not his name. Nothing more than a burble pleasure ripped from her throat. She taste down here too, though not of fruit and winter. She taste bitter, salty. Like the afterglow ruined by the bodies of others. He works her, until his jaw aches, until her diaphragm spasms, until they have both lost count of her clenches, her releases.

Only then does he allow himself to enter her, to slide his body against hers. Fevered and sweaty, and so delicate that even now he balances on his elbows, afraid to break this dark figurine trapped beneath his hips.

He wonders, as her eyes screw shut, as her mouth forms a perfect ring, if she knows. If she knows how deeply he loves her, how much he desires to possess even the smallest fraction of her.

She asked him once, would he give up the other, would he banish him from his life for her. He told her “  _ Yes, anything for you.”  _ She’d smiled at him, small and sad, and he saw in her eyes how desperately she had prayed for the other answer.

He’d laughed then, loud and boisterous and every bit the pompous child she remembered.  _ “I’m only teasing Gwen. We both said this was just fun.”  _

She kissed his cheek then and grinned.  _ “Two friends enjoying each others… company.” _

He wants to make it last, this moment inside of her. His hips are a slow roll, his thighs a tempered thrust. Her fingers dig into his back, urging him on, begging him move.

He only has this moment, this last time, and he wants to remember it. She clenches though, curls her feet against his ass, shifts her own hips. She knows what it takes, how to get what she wants, and too soon he feels his face contort, feels his hips stutter.

His release comes out in a quiet breath; a sudden rush of her slick against his curls.

She doesn’t linger, not the way she has before. A quick kiss against his sweaty temple, a promise of  _ "Tomorrow”  _ they both know isn’t to come.

He loves her, but he’ll let her go. Let her take the bag stowed by the west wall, let her slide her hand into his, let them flee to the northern village where they’ll tend to his farm and raise dark haired babies.

And Arthur will slip into another bed, against a coarser sheet. He’ll take his pleasure in lanky bones and ridged spines and a musk not even the most fragrant of baths can cover.

He wonders if Merlin hates him the way he almost hates Gwen.

 


End file.
